Tunnel Vision
by stubadingdong
Summary: Trip sees what he wants. Or rather, what he doesn't want.


TITLE: Tunnel Vision  
  
AUTHOR: stub  
  
DATE: 09-25-02  
  
RATING: R  
  
CODE: T/Tu  
  
DISCLAIMER: I've repeatedly told these two to go home but they remain lingering in my head. I'm gonna have to call the damn police myself and book them for loitering, dammit. Paramount, come and get them!!  
  
NOTES: The root of this story formed long ago (ok, about three weeks ago) but I didn't have the glue to bind it. Until the other day, when I was fuming about these 'rumors' of an Archer/T'Pol something-might-happen- thing. I still am, actually. But things took a turn for the worse and I'm uncharacteristically mean to poor Trip in this story. For the most part. Also, I'm flying without a beta on this one. My apologies.  
  
** ** ** ** ** ** **  
  
He stormed into the ship's gymnasium and threw his towel on the bench. Trip Tucker was pissed. It really shouldn't have bothered him. It was none of his business, after all. The reasonable part of his brain was at war with the irrational side. He stripped off his tank and threw it to the floor. Trip began placing weights on the barbell, slamming them on as loudly as he could.  
  
Just because you saw him leaving her quarters doesn't mean they're sleepin' together said the rational side of Trip's brain.  
  
It doesn't mean they're not, either pointed out the irrational. Besides, it was 0200! Who leaves shipmate's quarters in the middle of the night?  
  
Maybe there was an emergency.  
  
Then why wasn't the rest of the senior staff informed?  
  
Maybe it was a personal emergency.  
  
EXACTLY!  
  
The weights firmly attached, Trip laid down on the bench and began his angry workout. He tried to keep his mind off the scene that kept flashing before his eyes.  
  
He couldn't sleep and had decided to take a walk around the ship. Trip, on occasion, would actually run into other crewmembers who couldn't sleep, taking a similar course of action. Lately he'd been running into T'Pol either in the Mess, in Engineering or just in the corridors. They always ended up chatting. And he had been enjoying their late night visits. They were actually civil with each other...friendly, even. And it seemed to be happening more and more frequently. Maybe these weren't merely accidental meetings. Tonight Trip had hoped he'd run into her. He got more than he bargained for.  
  
As he meandered his way down the corridor, he knew he was coming up on T'Pol's quarters. Trip had slowed his pace, debating whether or not to knock on her door. Just as he rounded the corner he heard subdued voices and looked up. He'd immediately ducked back behind the bulkhead and peeked around. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he certainly saw enough to answer any questions.  
  
Jonathan Archer was exiting the Vulcan's cabin. He turned and stood facing her. She looked up at him, transfixed...or so it looked to Trip. Jon was saying something to her, a hand on her shoulder. Trip noticed her top was slightly askew and Jon's hair was messed.  
  
They could have looked that way before he got there, Tucker.  
  
A slow burn ignited in his belly, his hands curled into fists. Nausea uncoiled itself as Trip watched Jon lean in and brush a kiss against T'Pol's forehead. The hand that had been resting casually on her shoulder came up to stroke her cheek.  
  
And that was all Trip saw. He didn't want to see anymore. He'd practically run back to his own quarters and changed into workout clothes. He was positively steamed. Trip figured the gym would be deserted. It was the middle of the night and nowhere near duty shift change. If he hadn't come in here, he was sure he would have exploded.  
  
Trip heaved the barbell up and down repeatedly. He wasn't counting his reps. He wasn't even aware of how long he'd been lying on that bench, but a fine sheen of sweat had appeared on his face and chest. With a sigh Trip replaced the barbell and sat up.  
  
I thought there might be somethin' there. I thought she was actually warmin' up to me. I feel like I just caught her cheatin' on me.  
  
You have no claim on her. You're just pissed because Jonny beat you to it.  
  
"Gawd, shut up!" muttered Trip aloud. He stood and stretched his strained muscles. He wandered to the manual lighting controls and dimmed the tracks in the corner. Time for some shadow boxing. He could pretend he was beating the shit out of his best friend.  
  
Trip jabbed and poked at the figure on the wall. He ducked and danced around, muttering obscenities at his friend who wasn't there. He couldn't have been swinging and punching long when he heard an all too familiar voice behind him.  
  
"Do you want a sparring partner?"  
  
Trip spun around and dropped his arms to his side, panting heavily. He scowled at the Vulcan before him. She was completely composed yet an expression of curiosity was open on her features. Her focus briefly flitted to his naked chest and then quickly back to his face. He blinked, taking in the sight of her. His scowl melted away. T'Pol had on a sports bra and a pair of spandex shorts. And she was barefoot. Trip swallowed, his eyes sweeping up her body. She'd raised an eyebrow, waiting for an answer.  
  
"You wanna spar?" he asked. "Shouldn't you be...in bed or somethin'?" His mind didn't want to imagine that scenario. Trip was certain the captain would appear there next to her in his head. He clamped his jaw shut and crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
"You seem rather tense, Mr. Tucker," T'Pol replied coolly. "I thought perhaps if you had more than a shadow to spar with, you'd feel better."  
  
"Since when d'you care about how I feel?" he spat.  
  
T'Pol merely cocked her head, not sure what he meant by that. "You're very aggressive this morning," she noted instead. She sat on the mat, legs spread out like a gymnast and began to stretch.  
  
"I couldn't sleep," Trip said. He figured he didn't owe her any explanation. He just stood there watching her graceful movements. That nausea began curling up in his belly again as he followed every curve and plane of her body visible to him. The body he'd never be able to have. The body that belonged to Jon now.  
  
You don't know that for certain, Tucker. The only sure thing around here is the unexpected.  
  
Shut up!  
  
"Do you want to spar?" she asked again, looking up at him. "I only wish to help ease your tension." Again her gaze dropped to his torso. T'Pol wasn't so quick to return it to his face this time.  
  
Is she flirtin' with you, Tucker??   
  
She can't be.she's sleepin' with Archer.  
  
He found himself nodding slowly, his eyes fixed on hers. "Yeah, alright," he managed. Trip watched as she stood up and began circling him. He wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts, only then realizing that they were damp from perspiration.  
  
T'Pol seized his slight distraction as an opportunity for offense. She lunged at him, grasped his wrist, and thrust her hip into his. With one solid yank, she had him flipped over her hip and resting on his back on the mat. Trip knew Vulcan strength was superior to his own. He just wasn't ready for that one.  
  
Jumping to his feet, he spun and faced her again. This time he made the first move and he found himself flat on his back within seconds, again. He was looking up into her face as she bent over him. To her credit, she kept the smug expression off her features.  
  
"If you'd like, I can show you some moves so that you make a better partner than this," T'Pol offered, quite sincerely. "I know of some Vulcan hand-to- hand combat maneuvers that I can teach you."  
  
"I don't need lessons," Trip growled, on his feet again. He lunged again and found himself on his back once more within seconds.  
  
So it went for the next twenty minutes. Trip tried every tactic that he knew and still ended up on the mat with her knee in his back or on his throat. T'Pol was always one step ahead of him, using his own weight and mass against him. He'd thrown everything that he could think of at her and still she beat him. Trip had one last play left in his playbook.  
  
He got to his feet and began to circle her again. She cocked an eyebrow at him. Trip found himself smiling, despite the foul mood he was in. He knew she'd throw him to the floor within three seconds of his lunge. He was counting on it. As he grabbed for her arm, she twisted, grabbed his and hauled him over her shoulder. But he didn't let go of her this time and dragged her down with him.  
  
As she landed squarely on his chest, he rolled over quickly and had her pinned to the mat underneath him. He was finally able to use his own weight to his advantage. Trip had her arms held firmly on the mat with his own on either side of her head. His hips had hers soundly unmoving.  
  
"There," he panted, a small smile gracing his lips. "Gotta win one sometime."  
  
"Indeed," said T'Pol, her gaze locked solidly with his.  
  
This is the only chance you're ever gonna get, Tucker. Feel it now and save it for later.  
  
Trip had no other thought in his head save for one...the fact that he could feel every inch of her bare skin against his own. That her breasts were pressed into his chest. Her left knee bent up between his own thighs. And she wasn't struggling for him to let her up. The look in her eyes betrayed her calm. He could see something there. T'Pol wasn't even blinking. He felt himself begin to harden in spite of himself. The rage he'd felt earlier evaporated. Mostly.  
  
Before Trip could stop himself he blurted out, "Are you and Jon sleepin' together?"  
  
For a split second, a scowl marked her forehead and then was gone. T'Pol shifted her hips and he bit back a moan. "No," she said simply. She still held his gaze.  
  
Trip nodded. "Why was he in your quarters so late?" He pressed himself into her, and slowly began to rock his hips back and forth. He watched as her eyes began to lose focus.  
  
"He couldn't sleep," replied T'Pol, arching her back. Trip released his hold on her wrists and pushed himself off her torso. His hands were braced on either side of her ribcage, his hips pressing more firmly into her pelvis. He increased his rocking motion, fully hard now. He gasped when he felt her respond by moving her own hips in a circular motion against his erection.  
  
"Givin' him meditation lessons?" panted Trip, rubbing himself up and down between her legs. Her right knee was bent, lifting her hips into his. T'Pol braced her hands against his upper arms as they ground into each other.  
  
"Sort of," she grunted. "A Vulcan...hmm...relaxation technique." T'Pol's circular motion paused for a moment as her left knee bumped his right thigh, urging him to move just a bit to her right.  
  
Trip complied, an exaggerated sweep up the juncture of her legs. "Right there?" he asked as she closed her eyes and softly gasped. He continued to rub himself against her, their hips now the only contact they had with each other.  
  
"Are you in love with him?" he asked.  
  
T'Pol's eyes snapped open and she did scowl this time. "Vulcans do not allow themselves the luxury of falling in love."  
  
Rolling his eyes and pausing his hips Trip rephrased his question. "Fine. Do you have affections for Jon?"  
  
Of course she does. Jon's more suited for her emotionally. T'Pol could never fall in love with you, Tucker. Or at the very least have affections for you. You're too unstable. You're too emotionally volatile.  
  
You're not her type.  
  
She lifted her hips, trying to encourage him to continue. "Of course I do. He is my captain. And my friend. I have strong affections for him."  
  
Trip let his head hang down between his shoulders, feeling momentarily defeated.  
  
Who's cheatin' on who?  
  
The anger he'd felt earlier began to seep back into his foggy brain. She was with him now, writhing on the floor with him in the gym in the middle of the night. She could have gone to Jon's quarters but she found Trip here instead. He began to grind his erection into her again. This time it was not so slow, not so tentative.  
  
She's with ME now, dammit. Right here, right now, with ME.  
  
She's cheatin' on Jon with YOU.  
  
It ain't cheatin' if you're fully clothed. And no kissin'. Kissin' makes it personal.  
  
This IS personal, Tucker. You're practically fuckin'.   
  
Not liking where his internal dialogue was going, Trip opened his eyes and looked down at the Vulcan underneath him. Her head was turned to the side and she was biting her bottom lip. He wanted more than anything to kiss her, hold her, make her his. But he couldn't. Trip couldn't do that to Jon no matter how pissed off he was at him.  
  
Trip increased his tempo. He was thrilled to note that T'Pol matched his every movement. He was getting close to the edge. She turned her head and their gazes met. He felt her hands on his ass, pulling him closer to her. He mimicked her circular motion, figuring she must be close too. It was all he could do to not touch her, to keep his hands firmly on the mat. Trip wanted to reach between them and let his fingers do what his cock was attempting. He wanted to make her come that way. But there was to be no touching, no kissing, no other stroking.  
  
He felt her hips stop moving, her back arched again. T'Pol's fingertips dug into his buttocks as she let out a noise like a sigh and a moan. Trip's focus swam back to her face. He watched as she threw her head back, still biting that bottom lip, her entire body tensed up.  
  
She's comin'...you made her come by dry humpin' her on the floor.  
  
You're a fucking dog, Tucker.  
  
She couldn't have minded too much. It's not like she put up a fight or anything. Or said no. She participated...actively.  
  
You're humping her leg like a fucking dog in heat, you sick, twisted fuck.  
  
But Trip didn't care. Watching her orgasm was more than enough to push him over the edge himself. He could feel it in his balls, in his dick, in his stomach. He was going to come harder than he had in a long time and he was going to make one hell of a mess in his shorts.  
  
As T'Pol's climax subsided Trip's exploded. He pushed and rubbed against her in earnest while his body rocked with spasms of pleasure. He collapsed to his elbows, vaguely aware of her hands sweeping up and down his back.  
  
There's not supposed to be any touchin'. She's breakin' the rules by touchin' me.  
  
He pushed away and rolled off her onto his back, throwing an arm over his face and panting heavily. He was disgusted with himself and felt dirty. Only when he felt a warm hand on his stomach did Trip open his eyes. T'Pol was lying on her side facing him. Her fingers traced the lines of muscle on his abdomen. She was looking intently at him.  
  
"You never asked me if I had affections for you," she said. Her fingertips followed the track of hair from his navel downward.  
  
Trip propped himself up on his elbows and stared at her, trying to ignore her hand at the waistband of his shorts. "You have affections for me?" he asked incredulously.  
  
As her fingertips slipped underneath his waistband, T'Pol merely replied, "I thought that would be obvious by now, Mister Tucker."  
  
He watched as her hand followed his shorts across his waistline. Her fingertips did not breach the elastic of his shorts. Trip was trying to absorb what she just said, what they just did.  
  
"What about Jon?" he asked, his gaze moving to hers.  
  
"What about him?" returned T'Pol. She lifted an eyebrow as her hand moved back up to his stomach.  
  
She really does want you, you blockhead.  
  
"Nothin', I guess," Trip said quietly. He sucked in his bottom lip and grasped her right hand in his left. Their fingers entwined, he rolled over and back on top of her. T'Pol's left hand snaked up around his neck and into his hair.  
  
"Now what?" she asked softly.  
  
He bent his head towards hers, forehead against forehead. "I think I need to get out of these wet, sticky shorts before I chafe." Trip pulled back and smiled down at her, a chuckle escaping his throat. It was lost soon enough, however, as her mouth came up to capture his.  
  
So engrossed they were that neither one noticed the third figure in the small gymnasium, watching them silently from the doorway. With a heavy sigh, he turned and made his exit. Jonathan Archer had seen enough.  
  
^FINIS^  
  
ONE LAST NOTE: I tried to get away with an R rating. Hopefully the censors won't yank this. 


End file.
